Speak Low, If You Speak Love
by TheHaremshipper
Summary: A collection of rare Yu-Gi-Oh poly-pairing one-shots, drabbles, etc. written to a selected quote. Eighth up-Clearshipping. SetoxYugixMokuba Longest chapter yet, I think.
1. Bakushipping

**Hello! As you can see, this is just a collection of one-shots, drabbles, etc., of my favorite poly pairings written to a selected quote. Thank you for reading, please review!**

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Speak Low, If You Speak Love

A collection of my favorite multi-person pairing ficlets/drabbles/etc. from Yu-Gi-Oh! written to a selected quote.

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Bakushipping (AkefiaxBakuraxRyou)

AU-Set in Ancient Egypt

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_He must have killed a lot of people to have gotten so rich._

_-_Moliere, _The Imaginary Invalid_, 1963

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Ryou looked around the Thief King's lair, feeling as though he should be blinded by the sparkling of precious jewels and glinting gold that draped over every available surface in the room; the piles upon piles of wealth were so thick he couldn't see the grey stone floors through their magnificence.

Stepping forward, Ryou was careful not to knock over one of the piles as he searched for his lovers. Ryou never regretted coming with the Thief King or his Prince-this life was far better than his previous one as a slave, hands down. So when Akefia and Bakura had offered, it'd been a simple matter of donning his cloak.

Rounding one of the higher stacks of gold, he found the two he'd been thinking of just moments before unloading a leather sack of rare baubles and trinkets with the confidence of men who knew that should one be lost or damaged, getting a replacement would be child's play.

Akefia was the first to notice him, a smirk lifting the lips of his tan face, powdered lavender eyes shining with excitement. "Ah, hello Precious."

Bakura stopped what he was doing when the other spoke, glancing up as well to half-smile at Ryou, showing off one glinting fang-like tooth. "Precious-right on time."

Ryou's heart pounded, a blush dusting his cheeks, and felt his heart flip in his chest.

Of course, he thought, falling in love had been an unexpected perk of leaving with them.

Akefia beckoned Ryou over, and as he approached, he saw the Thief King pull something from his pocket that he'd obviously separated from the rest of the night's haul. A delicate silver chain, upon which hung a pure white pearl set in white gold was held with the utmost care. Akefia fastened the necklace about Ryou's neck once he was close enough, his thumb brushing over the hollow of Ryou's throat afterwards.

"That's what you wanted, right?" Bakura asked, leaning lazily against a sturdier pile of silver and gold coins with his arms crossed and eyes half-lidded. "A pearl, Precious?"

Ryou stared in awe at the expensive, practically _priceless_, piece of jewelry that dangled harmlessly from his neck. "B-but…pearls are so…so _rare_…"

Akefia shrugged, as if it were no big deal. "Our target tonight happened to have one on hand."

Ryou's eyes locked on Akefia's, bright emeralds more beautiful than any gem. "You…," he hesitated, hating having to ask, "you didn't _kill_ him, the previous owner, did you?"

"That old geezer?" Bakura snorted, taking a new position next to Ryou, wrapping one arm about the smaller male's shoulders. "Please Precious, he didn't even wake up."

Ryou smiled in a relief, posture easing. "Good. Are you hungry? I can get you something…"

"Some wine would be nice," Akefia mused, stroking his chin with one dexterous hand.

"Un!" Ryou beamed radiantly, slipping from Bakura's hold to retrieve the drinks.

Once the youngest of the trio was out of sight and hearing, Akefia shot Bakura an amused look. "So, he didn't even wake up, huh?" he chuckled.

Bakura's lips twitched, a dark kind of light entering his brown eyes. "Well he didn't, did he?"

Akefia guffawed. "No, I don't suppose he did. Not even when you drew the blade across his throat."

"It was necessary," Bakura dismissed, waving his hand. "He had something Ryou wanted. We couldn't very well have him waking up and calling the guard, could we?"

"True." Akefia rested an elbow on his knee, propping his chin in his palm. "I take it we aren't going to be telling Precious the truth on this matter?"

Bakura snorted. "Of course not, it wouldn't do to scare him, now would it?"

"No," Akefia breathed, "it wouldn't do at all."

There is one thing that no one, not even fellow thieves knew about the two. If Akefia was the Thief King, and Bakura the Prince, then in their minds there was only one logical position for Ryou to fill.

He was their _kingdom_.

And like all good rulers, they would lie, cheat, steal, fight, kill, and die for their kingdom. They would do what was necessary to ensure that the kingdom lived a long, happy life-free of war, famine, and pain. As innocent to the outside as they could possibly make it. All they ask in return, is that they be one with the kingdom they protected, that they be able to bask in it's purity, to soak in the gentle, loving light they had lost so very long ago.

If Ryou wanted, he could have asked for the world, and if he truly meant it, his King and Prince would have gladly taken it for him.

Just as they would for each other.

Eyes locked, powdered lilac and deep brown mirroring one another's thoughts in tandem. Tangling his fingers with Bakura's, Akefia led them from the chamber. "Let's go help Precious with those drinks, eh?"

Bakura laughed softly. "Yes, let's."

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Later that night, with Ryou cradled between them, Akefia and Bakura somehow managed to grasp one of Ryou's and each others hands-so connected, so undeniably apart of each other that the Gods didn't even have a hope of keeping them apart.

And that's the only way they would have it.

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**Thanks for reading, please review!**


	2. Bandageshipping

**Hiya~! New chapter, but it's shorter than the other. I honestly believe I pulled this one out of my arse-I had little insperation for this one. Review! Please!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh! It belongs to Kazuki Takahashi, a genius in his own right. Fences belongs to Paramore.**

Bandageshipping (BakuraxRyouxShizuka)

AU-Setting is open to interpretation.

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_Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thoughts._

-Percy Bysshe Shelley, _To a Skylark_, 1819

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Shizuka's iPod played at full blast, the sound booming in her ears.

_I'm sitting in a room, _

_Made up of only big white walls and in the hall _

_There are people looking through _

_The window in the door _

_They know exactly what we're here for._

She hummed contently along, knowing who it was when the bed dipped.

_Don't look up Just let them think _

_There's no place else You'd rather be._

Opening one eye, she found Ryou, staring at her with some kind of sad, morbid fascination on his pale face. She smiled, reaching out with her free hand to grasp his sleeve.

_You're always on display _

_For everyone to watch and learn from, _

_Don't you know by now, _

_You can't turn back _

_Because this road is all you'll ever have._

Ryou's eyes shifted, and suddenly it wasn't Ryou watching her anymore, it was Bakura. His eyes alight with a twisted glee, Bakura's lips curved in a dark smirk. He lifted one hand to run his fingers across her throat, the other mimicking the action across his own neck-_Ryou's_ neck.

No one else knew, no one else saw, no one else understood. They could never comprehend this, this sick form of love that Bakura had driven the three to. She knew that. She _feared_ that.

Yet at the same time, she craved it.

Closing her eyes once more, she began to murmur the chorus of the song as Bakura's nimble fingers proceeded to form a noose about their necks.

"_And it's obvious that you're dying, dying. _

_"Just living proof that the camera's lying. _

_"And oh oh open wide, 'cause this is your night. _

_"So smile, 'cause you'll go out in style."_

She felt the muscles in Bakura's hands tense preemptively.

_"You'll go out in style."_

Bakura squeezed.

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Thanks for reading! Please Review!


	3. Batteryshipping

**Haremshipper: Hi! Here's a new one for you-Batteryshipping this time. **

**I was aiming for something a little different here. I wanted it to seem like chaotic thoughts and such. Tell me how I did, or how you thought it sounded! What impression did you get, and so on.**

**Thanks for reading!**

**Please review!**

Batteryshipping (BakuraxJouxRyou)

AU-Setting is open to interpretation.

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_Every physician almost hath his favorite disease._-Henry Fielding, _Tom Jones_, 1749

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He'd been told. He'd been told, he'd been told, _he'd been told._

**Don't love them. They're wrong for you**.

Of course! That much was so very obvious. Everyone knew what would come of loving _them. _The thief and his oh-so lovable, oh-so deceiving little puppeteer. The mastermind and his sweet faced general.

**They won't let you go.**

How right, how very right they'd been. They'd come, they'd claimed, they'd conquered! He was theirs-mind, body, soul!

…and heart.

Yes, definitely his heart.

_Let me go, let me go, let__**me**_go_!_

They laugh and laugh and laugh.

What a cute little pet.

They were _infecting_ him! He could feel them, their essence, crawling over his skin, pumping through his veins. Everywhere he looks, everything he thinks, everything he hears!

_Them, them, __**them!**_

He was sick. Very, very sick. It was wrong. It went against everything his friends had said. To fall for the one who had wanted them dead, and his little light that had fooled them so well.

He'd been told.

_We love you, little puppy._

…yet, he didn't seem to care very much.

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**Thanks for reading! Tell me what you thought! (I'm repeating myself here...) **

**Please review! (Again, repeating myself!)**


	4. Candleshipping

**Woot! Here you go, another one. Not as long as I'd've liked, but this was an interesting one to work with. Some humor in this one! The next one will hopefully be longer. **

**Enjoy! Please review!**

Candleshipping (BakuraxSetoxRyou)

AU-In the office of Seto Kaiba

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_Our life is what our thoughts make it._-Marcus Aurelius, _Meditations_, 2nd cent. A.D.

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Seto Kaiba was a hard man to intimidate.

Of course, being the CEO of a multi-million dollar company could do that to a person. Being a hard-ass was practically a pre-requisite.

Not that it was all that hard. Though many of his fan girls believed otherwise, his 'hard-ass' personality was _not_ some façade he'd placed to hide his 'tormented soul in need of healing by that one _special person_.' That was a bunch of sugary sweet fairy tale bullshit, and, let's face it-Seto Kaiba did _not_ believe in fairy tales.

What he _did_ believe in was hard work, dedication, and achieving seemingly impossible goals. And, seeing as he did all three on a daily basis, why shouldn't he be a confidant, no nonsense, occasionally cocky hard-ass? He'd earned it.

So, yes, Kaiba was a difficult man to intimidate. But while intimidation might be nonexistent, annoyance, unfortunately, was not.

"What did he do _this_ time?" Seto leaned over his desk, phone held to one ear as he pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes closed.

"_Well, it's not exactly what he _did_, more along the lines of what he _didn't_ do."_

"And that is…?"

"_He might've forgotten that little rule about climbing on the ceiling."_

"Ryou, tell me he didn't break a chandelier."

"…_he didn't break a chandelier."_

Seto then made to let out what would have been a slight sigh of relief, had he not heard Ryou's next sentence.

"_He did, however, _destroy_ a chandelier."_

Seto groaned in the back of his throat.

"_Is there something you'd like me to do, Seto?"_

Kaiba sighed gruffly, "Get him to the bedroom, lock the doors and windows in it, and remove all sharp objects. It should take him at least twenty minutes to break out-enough time for me to get home."

"_Alright, then. I'll see you soon."_

"Yes, soon."

Placing the phone in its cradle, he rubbed his fingers over his temples as he leaned his head back. He was Seto Kaiba. Infamous hard-ass and one of the most powerful men in the world. He shouldn't have to worry about broken chandeliers. He could have every aspect of his life orderly, neat and perfect, at the snap of his fingers.

A picture on his desk glinted as fading sunlight shone from the windows in his lavish office and across its simple metal frame. In it, three young adults were sitting on a plush leather couch-the one in this very office, in fact-holding hands (however tentatively).

All three were smiling.

Softness edged Seto Kaiba's expression as affection stole for the briefest moment across his cool blue eyes.

Perfection, he decided, was just a matter of perspective.

As far as he was concerned, this was it.


	5. Carmenshipping

**Sorry it took so long, I lost the book of quotes I normally use for this series at a relatives house and had to wait to get it back. **

**I must say, this one started out being a pairing I didn't think I'd want to write very often in the future, but half-way through I realized I actually quite liked it. I may have to revisit it sometime. **

**Oh, and to Always a Bookworm-thank you for the continued support and magnificent reviews. I always enjoy feedback, no matter how small, but I love it when you actually go to the trouble to tell me what you liked and believed the better points of the story to be. You (And all my other reviewers as well!) all have my extreme gratitude. **

**Also, I am taking fic requests from those who are interested! More details on my profile!**

**I think you'll notice that I went with a slightly different style on this one. Not fluffy, not frightening, not chaotic or humorous. Just...a mix? I don't know. I can't really think of what to call it. Everything about this pairing just seems kind of...vague, you know?**

**On with the story!**

Carmenshipping (MarikxBakuraxSeto)

Canon-Ten to thirteen years after series end, in an undisclosed café.

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_There is no death. Only a change of worlds. _Seattle, c. 1854, in Joseph Epes Brown, _The Spiritual Legacy of the American Indian_, 1964

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Seto Kaiba sipped soundlessly at the rim of his cup, his eyes never leaving the pair that sat just across the table. He'd never believed all of Yugi's stories about Egypt and pharaohs and past lives. Seeing 'Yami' and watching him walk through that doorway all those years ago had him _only grudgingly _believing in 'magic.'

_And yet…_, his mind whispered.

His thoughts shifted, laying out all the presently known data on the two accompanying him like the computers he was so often compared to.

_Marik Ishtal, age 28. Born to a prominent Egyptian family. Inherited the family business at 21 after the unfortunate deaths of both parents. Only child. _

_Bakura Saito, ago 29. Orphaned at six, was adopted at twelve by the Saito family after it was discovered the female head was unable to carry a child to term. Biological surname unknown. Inherited the family business at 23; again, after the unfortunate deaths of both parents. Only child._

_The two met at a party thrown by a mutual benefactor four years ago, immediately hit it off. Have been an open couple since. Decided to merge the companies to Saito-Ishtal Industries three years ago. They produce top quality gaming technology, almost on par with Kaiba Corp._

"I hope you have considered our offer, Kaiba," Bakura purred, half-lidded eyes sharp. "As I'm sure you know, we have been…approached, by other associates."

_Industrial Illusions has been avidly seeking a merger with SII, but have been repeatedly turned down._

"I have thought on it," he replied noncommittally, setting his cup back to the table's surface with a soft _tink!_ of glass. He let his eyes scan the few café patrons before turning boredly to the rain-pelted window to his left.

"Have you made a decision?" Marik's gravelly baritone rings into the silence, clashing with the patter of rain.

Seto lets his gaze turn back to his business companions, betraying nothing in his expression as he meets the inquisitive stare of eyes whose color he can't bring himself to name. (In the back of his ever whirring thoughts he admits to himself that he has tried to on more occasions than he feels comfortable revealing, however, and the closest he's come in comparison would be of dried lilac petals crushed to a fine dust before adding a few drops of old blood.) Memories drift through the murky layer of his conscience that was firmly labeled 'Yugi & Co.' and shoved into the deepest corners of his mind and promptly forgotten, and he has to remind himself that the _only grudgingly _believes in magic. _And yet…_

_Bakura and Marik are both known sadists, who enjoy playing with allies and enemies alike._

"If you could guess," he murmured, as though what he was about to say didn't matter at all and was only mere curiosity, completely ignoring Marik's question, "who would you say you were in a past life?"

_Both are also avid game enthusiasts, capable of pulling off the most complex of strategies at whim with little effort._

Bakura's lips turned up at the corners, and an imperceptible chill stole down Kaiba's spine as the devil smirked at him across the table. "Hm? Well, that's simple, Kaiba." Seto didn't like Bakura's tone. It was too indulgent, too knowing. "I'd have to say I must have been a thief at some point."

"As for me," Marik said, "I think's it's more of _what _I was rather than _who_."

"Oh?" Kaiba raised a brow, calmly disinterested, though he had the faintest feeling he was playing right into their hands. "Pray tell then, _what_ were you?"

"Hm," Marik hummed, "a nightmare, I suppose."

_It should be noted when working with these two that toying with colleagues and mind games are not uncommon._

Seto stood gracefully, every movement precise, planned and unreadable. "I'm afraid I must be going, I have another appointmentI can't be late for. I'll have to get back to you with my answer at a later date."

Marik nods with false understanding. "Of course, we'll be waiting." _For your acceptance_, his smile says.

As he leaves the table, telling himself for the millionth time since meeting them that it can't possibly be _them_ and the names are a _coincidence_ and it's all simply _impossible _and he _only grudgingly _believes in magic, he is stopped by a voice that once again is all too knowing. "Oh, Kaiba?"

He looks impassively back at the two over his shoulder, "Yes?"

Bakura's head cocks, and the devil is smirking at him once more. "Tell Yugi we said hello, won't you?"

And as Kaiba left the shop, he found himself realizing that he only grudgingly believes in _magic._


	6. Castleshipping

**Hello!**

**Sorry it's been so long...school's back on, of course, and it's a lot more work this year than I was expecting. Plus, the home life hasn't been all that great...**

**But enough excuses! This one turned out to be quite the challenge! It didn't come as naturally as they usually do. I had to really think about this one, and evaluate how _I_ believed their characters would be in this sort of situation. I think the idea for this one changed a good three times before I came up with this. I'm quite fond of the end result, however. **

**I went for a seven deadly sins kind of theme with this one. I think I was a bit subtle with them, but I will give major kudos to the people that can list the order in which the sins appear. (Hint-there's one for each section.) **

**Thanks for reading, once again! It may be a bit before the next one, as I'm currently working on a necroshipping story I hope to have up within the next few days, and then I've got to work on a project for a friend's birthday. But hopefully once that's all cleared up, or when I can find some free time, you'll get the next chapter.**

**PS-Once again, if you have a favorite line, tell me! I love knowing which parts, if any, stuck out to you. It helps-trust me! Thanks to Always a Bookworm once again for the fabulous review, and I would LOVE to take on your request! I'm a bit in love with yamishipping myself. 3 :)**

Castleshipping (SethxSetoxJou)

AU-In a park in Domino, and the apartment of Jou.

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_Sin__ has many tools, but a lie is the handle which fits them all._

_-_Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr., _The Autocrat of the Breakfast-Table_, 1858

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In recent years it had become common, practically tradition, for the gang to meet up at the park fountain at least once a week. The pharaoh and the thief would be at each others' throats, as usual, and Kaiba would be an ass to him, as usual.

But things were different, now. Very, very different. Ever since Kaiba had touched that rod-_that rod, that rod, that God __**damned rod**_-everything had changed.

Kaiba stood there now, with Mokuba on one side, and a tall, ancient look-alike priest on the other. They weren't touching, Kaiba and the priest, but there was an air of _something_-something tangible, but at the same time untouchable-lingering between them.

"So, you used to be one of Atemu's priests?"

Seth, the priest, Seto Kaiba's god damned other half, shifted in place to give Seto's hand a barely there touch. Kaiba didn't pull back. "That is correct."

Jou told himself he wasn't jealous.

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Jou was usually the last person to arrive at their weekly meetings. He liked it that way, because then he didn't have to wait for anyone and could immediately dive into the fun. But today, despite making absolutely no changes in his routine, he was inexplicably early.

He rounded the corner that put him in direct view of the fountain, and his feet halted beneath him before his mind knew what he was seeing.

Hands clasped, bodies pressed, cheeks flushed, tongues twined-he'd never seen such an erotic display in his life.

Backing away unnoticed, Jou headed for the part of the park he knew held an ice cream vendor. It was hot out today, he decided, and wanted to cool of with a cold treat. Not because he was turned on. Not because we wanted them. He didn't. He didn't. _He didn't._

Funny, he almost believed it.

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That same day Jou questioned his luck several times. It seemed as though everywhere they went he found himself near the two. The same side of the table at the diner. The last ones to cram into the photo booth. The only ones who wanted to play that new shooter game at the arcade.

It didn't help that every time he locked eyes with either, heat crept into his face and he looked away.

Their day ended back at the fountain, and Jou waved as he watched his friends leave.

"What, you're not going to join them Mutt?"

His hand paused mid-wave, and he turned his head to two brunettes that stood just behind and to his left.

"'Fraid not, Kaiba. I got somethin' I gotta do today."

"Since when do you actually _do_ anything?" he smirked. "Or, at least, anything important?"

Jou turned to face them fully, mouth open to retort, when he made the mistake of meeting the Seth's eyes. His face heated in a blush and he quickly turned his head down to hide his face.

"What's wrong, Mutt?" Kaiba tilted his head to catch Jou's expression. His tone took on a teasing, almost playful quality that Jou completely missed in his mortification. "Lusting after me, Mutt? Or would that be _us_? Pining away for something your grubby little hands will never have?"

Crack!

Jou hadn't realized what he'd done until after he'd already done it. Sure, he'd threatened to before, on several occasions, but…

He'd never actually _hurt _Kaiba before.

Shocked, he stared at the quickly blossoming bruise around the left eye of Seto Kaiba's forcefully turned face. Shame and guilt bubbled in his stomach as Seth reached for Kaiba.

"Seto?" he asked worriedly, fingers fluttering over Kaiba's face. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Seth," he answered quietly. His eyes turned to Jou. "Why are you _crying_, Mutt?"

Jou reached a hand to his face, feeling for the warmth that was burning tracks down his cheeks. "I-I'm not," he stuttered, and turned heel to run from the park. As he did, he wondered which question he had answered, the pining, or the crying?

He prayed the first, but knew either way he was lying.

* * *

Jou didn't go to the next gathering. Instead, he curled up on the old but comfortable couch he'd gotten second-hand from an old friend, in an apartment he'd purchased to be separate from his father when he'd hit eighteen. He shoved another spoon of oddly named, over-priced ice cream into his mouth as some stupid drama in a language he didn't understand played on his television, and told himself it wasn't comfort food.

* * *

A week passed, and the next gathering came.

"_Are you sure you'll be alright, Jou?"_

"Yug, I promise I'll be fine."

"_We can come visit you…"_

"I'm just a little sick today, Yug. I swear. You don't need to come over."

"_If you're sure…"_

"I'm positive, bud. Now, go have fun, okay? Eat something extra for me."

Yugi chuckled over the line. _"Alright, Jou. Hope you feel better. Bye, I'll talk to you later."_

"Later."

Click.

Placing the phone back in the cradle, he continued to stare at the ceiling from his unmoving position on the couch, hardly even twitching as the hours passed.

* * *

Jou hadn't been expecting company when it came later that day. But, expecting it was probably Yugi deciding to check up on him anyway, he forced himself off the couch and answered the door.

Something else he hadn't expected was to be forcefully pushed deeper into the apartment the second he had the door open enough for whoever was on the threshold to effectively get a grip on him.

"Where the _hell_ have you been, Mutt?"

Jou blinked as he pulled himself into a more balanced position after the shove, blanching when he spotted the two brunettes at his door. "Kaiba? Seth? What…," he choked, "what are you two doing here?"

"I believe," Kaiba spoke calmly, even as his eyes glinted blue fire, "I asked you first, Mutt. Where have you been?"

Jou averted his eyes to a patch of white plaster wall. "I've been sick."

Kaiba scoffed, mouth opening to voice some retort, when Seth's hand on his shoulder stopped him. "I believe, it may be better if I were to handle this, Seto."

Kaiba raised a brow, but gestured for Seth to continue.

The former priest calmly approached the wary Jonouchi. There was something about this man that set his preservation senses tingling. For all that he seemed politer, calmer, less prone to anger than and at times kinder than Kaiba was, he felt that there was a dark cunning, an almost seductive sense of danger lurking just behind it all.

His hands glided up Jou's biceps, resting lightly on his shoulders. Blue eyes stared with reptilian integrity. "Jou, do you love us?"

Jou told himself he didn't care, that it wasn't rejection that kept him from speaking, but that there was nothing to say.

He hadn't been expecting _this _kind of reaction to his silence, though.

Pinned between the two, with Kaiba pressing nipping kisses to his neck at his back and the former priest nibbling his jaw at the front, Jou very nearly let his legs buckle under him.

"What?" Jou gasped.

A low chuckle puffed across his neck. "You should know by now, Mutt, that when the things I want don't come to me, after a while I just tend to take them."

"But-but what does that _mean?_" he panted, arching his neck as Seto bit lightly below the hollow of his ear.

"It means," Seth whispered, lips hovering over Jou's as their breath intermingled. "That even if you won't admit to wanting us _now_, we guarantee you will very, very soon."

Jou struggled to clear his mind as Kaiba's hands trailed across his abdomen. "Wh-why?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Seth replied, pressing just a hair closer. "Because _we_ love _you_."

Seth crossed that miniscule space, kissing Jou into oblivion, and suddenly nothing else mattered.

And that was that.

* * *

Later, Jou would admit that he loved them. He would lay in their arms and listen as they told of their schemes and attempts of catching his attention, and he would reply in turn about his doubts and fear that they'd never want him.

They quickly kissed these doubts away before he ever got too in depth about them.

Still, he told himself, he should remember that there may come a time when they realized they didn't want him after all, and he should be ready for it; that he shouldn't try to bind himself to them for life or tie them down.

Jou then decided that he really needed to stop telling himself things, especially since they all seemed to be lies, anyway.

* * *

**Thanks for reading! And by the way, if you can't see the page breaks, and I've heard of it happening before, please tell me! They're kind of important if you want to spot each section for each sin this chapter.**

**Please review!**


	7. Chimeshipping

**Harem: Wow if it hasn't been a while! I apologize for that, I've had projects swarming me for the past month or so...(and things aren't exactly peachy around here lately.) But, Christmas break is coming up and that means two weeks off and lots of writing time! W00t! **

**This chapter was notoriously difficult to write. It fought me every step of the way! (What can you expect, however, from such a pairing as this?) Overall, however, I am pleased with the final product. There were so many different ways this chapter could have gone-at one point I had Mai as a bank-teller and the boys as armed robbers. (I'm actually a bit glad now that I didn't go with that one...) It evolved from there to this! :) I hope you like it!**

**Always a Bookworm: HOW THE HELL DO YOU DO IT? Kudos to you, darling! Kudos to you! You got it right! Every single one right! You amaze me darling, simple amaze me!**

**Once again, if you see a line that sticks out, or a part you particularly liked or that stuck out to you, tell me! Every bit helps!**

**On with the story! (I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh, btw.)**

Chimeshipping (AkefiaxMalikxMai)

AU—Illegal gambling hall somewhere in New York.

* * *

_Really to sin you have to be serious about it._

_—_Henrik Ibsen, _Peer Gynt_, 1867

* * *

Twenty six-year-old Mai Kujaku didn't think that what she did was bad, per se. Really, to her it was just a means to get by. With no diploma, no assets, and no family to help her, it was no wonder she'd looked to a less-than-legal way of securing her income.

The smell of smoke hung thickly in the air of the underground gambling hall, dim lights shining in holsters along the grey walls. Uncomfortable looking couches lined the walls, facing a rickety, rounded table large enough to seat eight at the most. At the moment, only six filled the un-cushioned straight-backed chairs. An unseated male leaned against the back of another, watching the proceedings with bored apathy.

She sauntered forward, expression and gait confident. With people like these, image was everything. Meekness was synonymous with weakness.

"Hello boys," she drawled, "mind if I play?"

At once, seven faces turned in her direction and Mai was careful to let none of her composure slip. More than one set of eyes swept over her form, lingering on her chest. She fought not to bristle.

The bronze man at the end of the table furthest from her cupped his chin thoughtfully, gaze glimmering with curiosity as the skin pulled at the corners of his eyes, stretching a pale silver scar beneath the right. "Not at all, miss…?"

"Mai," she answered, promptly taking the empty seat across from him. "No miss required."

He nodded acquiescingly. "The game is poker. I assume you know how to play?" His tone was vaguely challenging as he leaned back into the arms of the man leaning on his chair.

Her eyes narrowed minutely, mouth tightening. "I _assure _you," her voice was almost sarcastic, "I know."

Their gazes locked, and his lips spread into an expression that was too sinister to be called a grin. "Well then," he murmured, "let's begin." He pulled a new-looking deck towards him, the cards dancing through his fingers as he shuffled. "I'll deal."

* * *

Several rounds later, during which she was shocked when the dealer decided not to participate himself, Mai had gone from one hundred dollars (the last of the money to her name, at the moment, and with no job and the rent due it wouldn't have lasted long) to two thousand. Usually, she would have stopped here and been set for a few months, but her instincts told her to stay. Mai always listened to her instincts. They had never failed her before.

Surely enough, a man two seats away tapped his fingers on the table for attention. "You're quite the poker player, Mai," he said, and she didn't think she liked the way he spoke her name. "How about we up the stakes?"

The dealer's eyes flickered to the other, white hair hovering over his brow. "How do you propose, Johnson?"

An oily smile slipped onto Johnson's face, "A one on one match. Just myself and Mai."

"What are you betting?" she asked. Mai decided she didn't like the way this man, Johnson, spoke, period. Something about him reminded her strongly of a snake, she could practically see the venom spilling from his lips.

Johnson reached into a pocket lining the inside of his coat, removing a thick white envelope. "This is a deed," he said, "to a beach-side house in California."

Mai's breath drew in sharply. A house? He was betting a _house_? Her mind quickly set to calculations. If she could win this, with the money she already had, it would be an easy thing to get a plane ticket, pack up her meager belongings…

She could be living in her own home, not an apartment, but a _home_ within a few days.

"Of course," Johnson continued, "I'd like for you to offer up something of value as well, Mai."

Mai's spine stiffened. Silly her, she'd almost forgotten that there was always a catch. "What do you want?"

Johnson smirked widely, and the poison spewed forth. "I want you, Mai."

There was no need for anyone to elaborate on that sentence. It was obvious what he meant, and Mai's expression nearly wavered. Could she do that? Would she really be willing to take such a risk?

_A home_, a voice whispered. _No more hopping from place to place, no more struggling to live. A new place, a fresh start…_

It was all too tempting.

"Fine," she declared, hardening her resolve. "Let's play."

Johnson laughed, "I was hoping you'd say that."

* * *

Mai stared tensely at her hand, the cards looking morosely back at her. The dealer watched avidly, the man that had been leaning on his chair now perched in his lap. This male now swept golden blonde hair from lavender eyes with a deeply tanned hand as he spoke the first words she'd heard him utter all night, "Reveal."

Johnson laid his cards flat, chuckling eagerly. "Four of a kind, kings."

The dealer whistled, his brows shooting into his hairline. "Damn," he muttered. Dark purple swiveled to her as he said, "Hope you've got luck on your side, Miss Mai."

Mai was silent, face flat as she stared at her opponent's cards. "Good hand, Johnson," she whispered, "really good."

He smirked, and prepared to speak—

"But, not good enough."

Mai's hand flipped her cards to the table for all to see, proclaiming confidently, "Four of a kind, _aces_."

* * *

Mai counted her winnings happily as the hall emptied, content to sit and plan for a moment. Oh, the things she would do; the places she was going to see!

"Quite the win you made there, Miss Mai."

She looked up and met the stare of the dealer and the blonde, quick to drain the emotion from her face until nothing but the confidant persona from before remained. "Thank you."

The dealer smirked, holding one large hand out. "The name's Akefia," he said, "and this," cocked his head to the other, "is Malik."

Mai reached out and shook the other's hand. "Pleasure, I'm sure." Not really. "Is there something I can do for you?"

"Yes, actually," Akefia said, that same stretch of sinister intentions too dark to be a grin returning once more, "there is. You can make a deal." Suddenly, he was tapping a thick white envelope against his chin, and Mai started, glancing down at where her deed was _supposed_ to be.

_When had he—?_

"You see, Mai," Akefia continued, "Malik and I have been coming to this hall for weeks, trying to get Johnson to bet this deed. We were on the verge of giving up and just stealing it from him, when what should happen but _you_ come along and win the prize we've been vying for?"

Mai took a deep breath. "Why tell me this? You have the deed."

"True," he hummed, "but we're willing to make you an offer, Mai."

Malik reached across the table and twirled a strand of her hair about his finger. "Akefia and I do this for a living, you see. We're quite the excellent gamblers, and have discovered that it's easier to rake in—or, should the urge strike us, steal or cheat in—a larger haul together than by ourselves." He released her hair, the same finger scratching a light path down her cheek. "You're very good, Mai."

"Join us," Akefia said, "and we'll take you to California with us."

"I assure you," Malik drawled, his finger moving to trace her bottom lip, "we can make it well worth your while."

Mai held still, carefully neutral. She couldn't fight them for the deed. She was outnumbered, and it was quite obvious that Akefia's fingers were nimble enough to hide it just as easily as he'd taken it. At the rate things were going, she'd have to go back to the way life was only a few hours before. She could survive, she always survived, but…she had been so _close_…and if they were telling the truth…

Mai met Malik's eyes squarely. "What's the weather like this time of year in California?"

"Hot," he answered, lids falling to half-mast, "it's _always_ hot."

"Very, _very_ hot," Akefia assured, his gaze as heated as his words as he licked his lips slowly.

Closing her eyes, Mai opened them moments later with a lazy smirk.

"Well then, what are we waiting for?"

* * *

**Thanks for reading, please review! By the way, is it totally obvious that I don't know a lot about poker? I only know what my dad has taught me from a few family game nights with candy betting chips.**


	8. Clearshipping

**DEAR GOD IT'S BEEN FOREVER.**

**Whoo, sorry about that guys! End of the school year, and all that. Luckily, summer's coming up, so I've got weeks of free time ahead!**

**To those who have continued to stick around and read these, thanks very much! I hope you like this chapter. I ended up changing it at least three times, before settling with this. I'm actually quite happy with how it turned out. It's a bit darker than the other chapters, too. A lot of stuff about the characters is left open to interpretation. Are they good guys, bad guys, inbetween guys? I don't know. It's up to you.**

**Once again, if there's a part you liked in particular, let me know! I love knowing if certain scenes have the same impact on you as readers as I did when I was writing them.  
**

* * *

Clearshipping (SetoxYugixMokuba)

Historical AU—An orphanage in Germany, during WWII

Warnings: Themes of death, slight pedophilia

* * *

_Love is the child of illusion, and the parent of disillusion._

_—_Miguel De Unamuno, _The Tragic Sense of Life_, 1913

* * *

Mokuba had never been more terrified in his life.

He shivered, trying his hardest to control his breathing as he hid beneath his bed. He could hear Nazi soldiers ransacking the rooms down the hallway and on the floor beneath him. The cries of his fellow orphans rang through the building, sticking in his ears and bringing tears to his eyes.

Curling tighter into himself, Mokuba prayed desperately to the God he'd believed in all his life, wishing for a miracle to save him. A small part of him dimly realized how selfish it was to pray for his safety above the others, but the largest part of him was too frightened to feel guilty.

The door to his room opened, and booted feet stamped the floor as they entered. Taking quiet breaths, he listened as the rest of the room was searched, the beds of his roommates pushed aside and their trunks torn open. He glanced beneath the bed next to his, catching the eyes of another boy, three years his senior, hiding there. Desperation lit the other boy's eyes; the same shine Mokuba knew must have been reflected in his.

Footsteps sounded near the end of the bed, and Mokuba's eyes widened as he flicked his gaze down. Black boots gleamed as they walked the aisle between the beds, stopping halfway. The owner of the boots began to crouch to one knee, the mattress of Mokuba's bed creaking as a heavy hand was laid upon it, and in one terrifying instant, Mokuba knew the man was going to look beneath and find him.

Tears slipped across the bridge of his nose and cheek to the floor, leaving spots in the dust. Feeling a stare, Mokuba locked gazes with the boy across from him. He watched as the other boy lowered his lids for a brief moment, and when they opened again all the desperation had been tamped down to a slight spark, making way for a flood of grim resolve. Before Mokuba could wonder what this meant, the boy had rolled away from him, into empty aisle next to the soldier, hopped his feet, and started to run.

The soldier about to discover Mokuba stopped, shouting at the boy and rushing back onto his feet. The black boots retreated, giving chase along with several other soldiers.

Mokuba waited, listening, trembling as the sound of struggling reached him from down the hall. Finally, a shot rang out, echoing in the silence that followed.

Closing his eyes, allowing ever more tears to drip down his face, Mokuba could not hold back the smallest of grieving whimpers.

A hand grabbed the collar of Mokuba's jacket from behind, and he cried out as he was dragged from beneath the bed. Screaming, he kicked at the soldier holding him. A grunt sounded as his foot contacted with the other's shin, and suddenly another hand was in his hair, yanking the strands taught and pulling a pained yelp from Mokuba's throat.

"You'd better calm down, brat," the soldier hissed, forcing him to his feet and shoving him forward, out of the room, "unless you want to end up like _him_."

Mokuba froze as they came upon the corpse lying in the middle of the hallway, bullet hole shot cleanly through the side of his head, leaking blood and other matter onto the wooden floor. The dead eyes of Mokuba's attempted savior stared blankly at the wall, all hints of life extinguished.

Mokuba's blood ran cold as he numbly allowed the soldier to drag him down the stairs and out of the building, where the other boys from the orphanage had been lined up on the front lawn. Mokuba was the last to arrive and be thrown into the line.

The soldiers milled around the line, awaiting orders. Glancing about, Mokuba noted immediately who these soldiers' superiors must be. Two men, one towering above all the other men, and the other barely taller than Mokuba, stood with pristine uniforms and glinting badges several feet in front of him. The taller man's brown hair was arranged neatly beneath his hat, his face and dark blue eyes stern as he watched the orphans. The short man was smiling calmly, blond spikes hanging around his face, the rest of his black, red-tipped hair forced back into a pony tail. Gentle amethyst eyes looked out from a childish face. The two were a study in contrast.

Feeling eyes on him, the small man turned his attention towards Mokuba. Mokuba gasped softly, shrinking into himself slightly as those bright eyes glanced over his form. Something shifted in the small man's expression, and he discreetly nudged the taller, whispering words that none but they could hear. The tall man also turned in Mokuba's direction, hard blue eyes staring straight into him. Turning away, the tall man nodded once to the small man.

Wondering what all that had been about, Mokuba was jolted out of his thoughts and plunged back into terror as a soldier shoved him from behind, forcing him to stand in front of his peers. The gleaming, beautiful black barrel of a gun was pressed to his forehead, and Mokuba whimpered, scrunching his eyes shut.

"Wait."

The cold voice halted the finger about to pull the trigger, and the soldier faced the tall man. "Yes, Major General Kaiba?"

Blue eyes locked with Mokuba's, blank of emotion. "Rather than doing it here, why not take them to the alleyway, where the orphanage workers' bodies are already stacked? Then we won't have to drag them there ourselves when we're finished to burn them."

The soldier smiled. "Good thinking, sir." Before the man could drag Mokuba off to the ordained alleyway, the small man hopped over and clasped the soldier's shoulder with a smile.

"Why don't you let me do this one? I haven't gotten a shot in all day!"

The soldier beamed back. "Sure thing, Brigadier General Mouto."

Humming, the small man, now known as Mouto, grabbed Mokuba's arm and led him to the alleyway, apart from the rest of the group and where the soldiers had parked their cars. Mouto led him to a sleek black car, nicer than the others, that Mokuba didn't know the name of, and right next to a pile of corpses Mokuba recognized as the people who'd taken care of him all his life.

Tears forming once more as he spotted the grayed hair of the aged orphanage cook, Mokuba couldn't bring himself to struggle as Mouto pushed him against the car. He watched as Mouto pulled his own gun from its holster, scrunching his eyes again as he waited for what he knew was coming.

The shot rang loud in the alleyway, and Mokuba opened his eyes as he realized he was unharmed. He was shocked to find that Mouto had merely shot at one of the bodies in the pile, and was now smiling calmly at Mokuba.

"Have to make it convincing, you know? They'd think you were alive if I didn't shoot something," Mouto said.

"W-what?" Mokuba breathed.

"Hush now," Mouto scolded, walking around Mokuba to pop the trunk of the car he'd been leaning on. "You climb on in there, and I'll see you in a few hours, alright?" When Mokuba hesitated, Mouto raised an eyebrow. "Unless you want me to shoot you?"

Shaking his head frantically, Mokuba hurriedly climbed into the trunk, not knowing what to think when Mouto gave him one last smile before closing the lid.

As he listened to Mouto's footsteps walk away, shouting something gleefully about Mokuba's body being so small he'd been able to slip it in a space beneath the others in the pile, Mokuba wondered if he'd made the right choice.

Hours later, after listening to his fellows beg and scream and the sound of shots followed by oppressive silence, Mokuba still wasn't able to give himself an answer.

* * *

When the trunk was finally opened once more, much later that night, he discovered himself in the garage of a wealthy estate. Mouto yammered happily about how much Mokuba would like it here as he led Mokuba into a pristine sitting room, where the tall man, Kaiba, was waiting calmly.

Mokuba squirmed as he was seated on a soft couch, feeling uncomfortable wearing such rags as he was in such a clean room, with such frightening company.

"What's your name?" Kaiba's voice cut into his anxiety.

"Mokuba," he blurted, stiff as Mouto sat next to him, patting his knee comfortingly.

"Last name?"

"Ah, um…"

"It doesn't matter." Kaiba waived away his own question as Mokuba stuttered for an answer. "From now on, you will be known as Mokuba Kaiba. I already have the paperwork being made in the strictest of confidence. Publicly, you are now my younger brother, returning from Switzerland, where I sent you for private schooling. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir." Mokuba did not know why he asked the next question he did, but was unable to keep himself from voicing it. "And, privately, sir?"

Kaiba's flat stare shifted, and Mokuba shivered as an almost predatory heat simmered underneath. Feeling breath on his cheek, Mokuba turned his head, only to have Mouto's soft lips brush his in a chaste, barely there kiss. A calm sort of darkness had stolen over the man's gentle gaze, a kind smile still lingering on the edges of his mouth. Mokuba flushed as his stomach twisted, too young to know the meaning behind these reactions.

"Well," Mouto drawled, "we'll just have to see where that goes, won't we?"

Shortly after, as Mokuba was being led to his new rooms, he paused just long enough to ask one question.

"Why did you save me?"

Neither answered.

And years later, as the three of them were forced to flee to Switzerland as the Nazi regime failed, they still hadn't.

* * *

**Thanks for reading! Review please! Oh, and if any of you think you might have an answer to Mokuba's question at the end, tell me! Cause even I don't really know why they did it. I have a guess, but for the most part Yugi and Seto's reasoning has escaped me. I don't even know if they're good guys or bad guys in this one. **

**PS-Bookworm, thanks again for another stunning review on the last chapter! Your reviews always make me smile. XD  
**


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